


you know what really steams my soymilk?

by HalfFizzbin



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Coffee Shops, Future Fic, M/M, blatant self-indulgence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-01
Updated: 2013-12-01
Packaged: 2018-01-03 02:58:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1064943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HalfFizzbin/pseuds/HalfFizzbin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek finds a job, and Stiles finds Derek delightful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you know what really steams my soymilk?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [verity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/verity/gifts), [daunt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/daunt/gifts).
  * Translation into Русский available: [Знаешь, что по-настоящему пропаривает моё соевое молоко?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1751195) by [CranberryBoo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CranberryBoo/pseuds/CranberryBoo)



> This is the most I have ever projected on Derek in a fic. And I project on Derek A LOT.
> 
> For verity and daunt. YOU KNOW WHAT YOU DID ♥
> 
> (Sorry if you already read this, because it's also posted on [tumblr](http://halffizzbin.tumblr.com/post/68593706452/fic-you-know-what-really-steams-my-soymilk).)

Derek has a  _job._

Stiles isn’t sure why his brain keeps tripping over itself about this, but… Derek is  _employed._ Derek is standing there, behind a counter, telling the woman in front of Stiles to  _have a great day._

Stiles lets out an odd, harsh laugh, because Derek probably doesn’t even remember what having a great day feels like. 

“Hey,” he says, scooting up to the counter. “So this is where you disappear to every morning.”

“Fuck,” Derek says, shoulders slumping under his dirt-brown  _Café Dulce_ apron _._ “I forgot you had a class on this campus.”

“That’s probably not appropriate customer service language,” Stiles points out, smirking. “I don’t want to have to go to your manager over this, young man.”

“My manager,” Derek says, jaw tight, “is five years younger than me. And a  _business major_. Do you want a latte or what.”

“I just,” Stiles starts, but Derek is already skulking over to the espresso machine.

“It’s taken care of,” says the skinny tattooed girl who takes Derek’s place at the register. “Which, wow, I didn’t know Derek  _had_ any friends.”

“He’s probably just trying to poison me,” Stiles reassures her, biting the inside of his cheek when she throws a panicked look over her shoulder. 

(The latte is kind of amazing, actually, even though Stiles doesn’t normally go for hazelnut. He swears he can taste the bitter, reluctant affection in every sip.)

::

“I have no résumé,” Derek says a few days later when Stiles shows up during his shift. “I have a degree, it’s not like… it doesn’t seem to matter how much I—nobody else would—”

“No big deal, dude,” Stiles says, throwing down a twenty before Derek can passive-aggressively pay for his drink again. “You’re actually really good at making lattes.”

Derek’s neck flushes red; Stiles can see the burning skin where Derek’s uniform polo is open at the throat. “Stop.”

“What? I’m totally serious! Before you started working here they’d all just scorch the fuck out of the milk.”

“Please don’t come back here,” Derek says, and Stiles narrows his eyes.

“So  _stop_ me,” he says, tipping his chin up.

“I will jam this muffin  _down your throat,”_ Derek says, and that’s about when his manager walks out.

::

Stiles decides to give Derek a little time to get over  _that_  incident before he waylays him at work again. Besides, it’s not like he  _misses_ him, or anything. It’s only been a little over a month since Stiles moved away for college. He’s gone a few weeks without seeing Derek before, right? There’s definitely no reason for him to be going all gooey-nostalgic every time someone in a soft leather jacket brushes past him on the quad. 

Besides, there are other places to get coffee in town.

(In the meantime, though, he sneaks into Café Dulce on the late shift and leaves a comment card specifically about Derek. He uses phrases like “above and beyond customer service” and “awareness of patron’s needs” and “orgasmically-delicious mochaccinos,” in the hopes that it gets Derek’s manager off his back while simultaneously embarrassing Derek horribly.)

::

“I don’t know what you put on that comment card,” says Tattoo Girl when Stiles shows up for a latte next week, “but you scared him off pretty good. He spends all his shifts in the back making sandwiches now.”

“Of course,” Stiles says, grinding his palms against his forehead. “Of  _course._ ”

“You shouldn’t be mean to him,” she says. “I mean, yeah, he’s a  _huge_  loser, but there’s no need to rub it in.”

“Ex _cuse_ me?!” Stiles says.

He drops a comment card in the box for Tattoo Girl, next. He claims that she screwed up his coffee order and belittled his religious beliefs. 

::

“What you did to Natalie was pretty horrible,” Derek says, back at the register the next day. His eyes are shining a little bit, which happens every time he smiles without actually smiling, and Stiles does a few hops on the balls of his feet from satisfaction. 

“It must be hard,” Stiles says, looking casually over the tea selection. “Being able to hear everything these little 18-year-old monsters say about you.”  


“You’re a little 18-year-old monster,” Derek points out. “And you’ve said a lot worse.”

“Well I never  _meant_ it, jesus.” Stiles indicates the sandwich case. “Hey, did you make that ham thing yesterday? A-plus, dude.”

“Okay.” Derek sighs heavily. “Okay. Justin, I’m going on break.”

“What— _hey,_ ” Stiles says, only putting up a token struggle as Derek drags him by his elbow toward the entrance. “We’re past this stage in the relationship, buddy. Watch the shoulder!”

“Shut up or I’ll fireman-carry you,” Derek threatens, but he moves his hand to Stiles’ lower back instead as he hurries them out the door. Stiles swallows hard.

“Are we gonna fight,” Stiles says when Derek leads them into the little alley between the coffee shop and Bolton Hall. “Because I have to say, even though I’m kind of ripped now I’m pretty positive I couldn’t take you.”

“I need you to stop,” Derek says. His palm drags against Stiles’ body a little, landing just above his hip.

“What now,” Stiles says, fixing his eyes on Derek’s chin and suddenly struggling to regulate his breathing.

“With the comments, and the jokes. I need them to stop.”

Stiles’ eyes snap up to meet Derek’s. “But—”

“You think I don’t  _know_ how demeaning this is? You think these kids let me forget it for a single moment? You think the fact that I could rip their heads off in two seconds makes it any easier to be here?”

“No.” Stiles grabs Derek by the shoulders, fisting his hands in that stupid ugly uniform shirt. “No, I really don’t. I don’t think that. I think you’re  _amazing_.”

“Ugh,” Derek says, gritting his teeth.

“No,  _stop it._ I do. I think you’re great. I think it’s great that you took this job and that you’re  _trying your best_  even though you work with a bunch of immature fucking douchenuggets who don’t know the difference between a latte and a macchiato.”

“Douchenuggets?” Derek says, mouth twitching. 

“Your microfoam is the best,” Stiles says firmly. “ _You’re_  the best. Shut the fuck up.”

“ _You_  shut the fuck up,” Derek says, and kisses him until all Stiles can taste or smell is leather and organic dark roast.

“Mm, full-bodied,” Stiles says, grabbing Derek’s ass with both hands. 

(Derek groans at him, but Stiles is pretty sure it’s only 36 percent annoyance.)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] you know what really steams my soymilk?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1344049) by [Readbyanalise010](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Readbyanalise010/pseuds/Readbyanalise010)




End file.
